There Is No Satisfaction
by CasualCynic
Summary: Warnings inside. T for language. One-shot for Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Non-pairing. It's hard to come to terms with reality sometimes. Especially when reality was never supposed to be real. It was all just an accident. Based on a true story.


**A/N:** Based on a true story... Actually, it might as well be the true story. P.S. There may be a few spelling errors I missed, so if you would note them, I would appreciate it greatly.

Warning: AU, human names, dark setting, aftermath of character death, and I don't believe in very many happy endings.

* * *

There must have been a song for this. A song that described the blue, open sky and the scorching heat that made drops of sweat run down their backs just as fluidly and frequently as the tears that ran down their faces. A song that stated clearly what the sad, small group was huddled up for and sobbing so loud the glass doors couldn't contain its sound. A perfect song, with chained melodies and strung harmonies floating so perfectly just as the messages of memory drifted into the sky and away. Memory that was to follow the passing trail of a loved one.

The only problem was that the wind was blowing the wrong way.

Lovino sat on the railing outside the auditorium, texting a few coworkers to see whether or not they could cover for some mourning individuals. It wasn't as if Lovino was personally responsible for picking up the slack, but he knew who wouldn't show up and there was no way in hell he would be cleaning the entire cafe all by himself. Unfortunately, there was no response so far. He tucked his cell phone away and ran his fingers through his hair.

It was an accident. A hairy, mangled, kid with a dumb idea and a motor bike kind of accident. All because of a stupid new toy. Lovino shook his head. "Awful. Absolutely awful." He mumbled. "He was almost graduated, too, huh? Almost out of here." The shade from the roof above him kept getting thinner as the minutes ticked by. "All that education and time spent for nothing."

Lovino wasn't too familiar with the dearly departed. All he knew was the face and the name- A regular guy, six feet tall and just about as wide as the flag pole out front of the high school. Shaggy hair that wasn't quite blonde, but wasn't quite silver either... And what color were his eyes? Everyone called them red, but Lovino swore they had more of a purple and blue hint to them. And his skin... Pale. Not ivory, not fair, just pale. It was funny. If you weren't a number, you were a name. But even though Lovino hadn't spent much time around him, he couldn't see Gilbert as anything other than a human being.

The noises from inside had died down; Lovino guessed the event was over. He jumped from the bar and wiped a good amount of sweat from his brow. He made an effort to straighten himself up a bit more and then ducked under the shade to the surrounding sidewalk. Apparently being moral support for the moral support was an important job.

He expected a bit of a wait, but kids were already coming out the doors, some wiping their eyes, some shuffling their feet... And some holding a plate with a few pizza slices on it. Lovino arched a curious brow. It seemed a little inappropriate that an event for the dearly departed would offer pizza and cokes for guests. Whose mom would bri-

"Hey... I didn't think you would come." Lovino snapped from his suspicions. Antonio- previously mentioned moral support- was slouched at the shoulders and looking at the cement with stark red eyes. "Thanks."

"You really think I'm letting you drive after this? I'm not that bad of a friend." Lovino rolled his eyes and wrapped a slightly hesitant arm around his shoulders. Antonio took the gesture gratefully, leaning into the half-assed embrace. "Are you ready? You want to talk to anyone else?"

"No, I'm okay. Let's go." The words were weak, weaker than Lovino thought they would be.

He would have to get him home before he said another word about this.

.-.-.-.

"So how's Frankie?" Lovino asked. His nickname was not used in the usual mockery, but more as a term of endearment.

Antonio knocked the empty tissue box to the ground. "Mortified." He croaked out. "Devastated, bewildered, horrified, depressed..." He took a moment to wipe his nose. "But mostly guilty."

Lovino reached for the cabinet just above the stove. "_Shit_. None of that was his fault. They both should have been more careful. Especially because no one wore a goddamn helmet." He grabbed one of the neatly lined boxes and tossed it over on the dining table, just next to Antonio.

"A helmet... Thank you." He ripped the cardboard protector off. "A helmet wouldn't have helped."

_It would have stopped the wheel halfway_, Lovino thought. But it was probably better to keep that to himself. "Do you have any tea? Just regular tea, nothing fancy or multiple taste."

"Yeah, right next to the coffee. But I'm alright. I don't need any."

"I know. You're getting that weird lemonade mix. I'm getting the damn tea." Lovino grunted as he reached towards the back. It was pretty obvious how highly this family valued the drink. "These things better not have expired."

Antonio laughed weakly."Still have that hay fever?"

"Yeah. The old man won't let me take any drugs, either. _'Builds a healthy body'_ he says." Lovino swelled his chest at the impersonation. "But he pours drugs down Feliciano's throat like a crack head at a candy factory."

"Yeah. I remember that time at the lock-in." Antonio placed his head on the table. He heaved a trembling sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "God..."

Lovino hated being a leader. He'd much rather sit back and do his own thing- props if you joined in, too. But when his best friend was two inches away from putting a bullet in his brain, what other choice did he have but to start something? "Uh... Yeah. My brother's a dork." He bit his lip. Perfect way to bring a happy ring, idiot. What could he say? And even if he found the right words, could he say it without offending his friend? Damn options.

Forget the traditional kettle- the water was going in the microwave. Lovino quickly poured another glass and dumped a good amount of the drink mix in. If the old man taught him anything, it was that good food and drink brightened anyone's day. Even if Lovino didn't quite understand the hype over this one brand of lemonade. He stirred the concoction violently until most of the powder settled. "I swear, if this thing sloshes..."

Antonio had his face flat on the table now, completely silent and still. "Hey. I made you lemonade." Lovino sat the glass down. No response. He poked Antonio's back a few times. "Drink it." He heard the microwave go off behind him and was just about to walk back...

"He wouldn't let me sit by him. He wouldn't let me talk to him or touch him... He sat in the back row by himself. And after it all he called his mom to pick him up by the back entrance." It was a lot to process, especially from the muffled position Antonio was in. But Lovino didn't have to hear the words to understand them. He felt them in his heart. Each shaky syllable made his chest feel twice as heavy- and the knowledge from what it meant just added to the burden. "He's never going to get over it. He's going to live with it forever." A sad chuckle. "You know, I feel bad for saying it, but I feel worse for Francis than for Gilbert. We sent those balloon messages off to Gil for one last word... But Francis doesn't have anybody there for him."

Lovino pulled his friend up gently, picking a few tissues out of the box. "Go ahead and let it out. But don't you dare think this was anyone's fault. It was just a-"

"An _accident_!" Antonio screamed, slamming his fist on the table and sending some of the lemonade flying out. His sobs had become obscene and the tears rolling down his face were almost crocodile-proportioned. "Accident, accident, accident. Everyone keeps saying that, but what do they really know, huh?" A few rapid-fire hiccups. "How do they know anything? How does _anyone_ know anything?"

The snorts, the squawks, and everything else... It wasn't human. It wasn't right. "Goddammit, Antonio." Lovino felt his own voice shake. "You think Gilbert wanted to die?" There was no expected response. "Do you really think so? And do you think Francis wanted to take him out like that?" Lovino slipped his arm around Antonio's heaving shoulders and held strong and steadfast. "It was an accident. A freak accident with two kids and a new toy. No one wanted to run over anyone. _Accident_. Okay?"

But he couldn't be sated. And whether it was out of pity or of his own insecurity at failing at what he needed to do, Lovino found himself holding on tighter and tighter.

.-.-.-.

There were a few replacements for the night shift. Lovino found himself cheering a little on the inside when his boss declared an early close. And by early close, it meant that he was filling salt and pepper at five thirty.

He didn't want to leave Antonio. Even when it seemed he cried himself to sleep, Lovino wanted to stay. But he promised to come after his shift was over. The old man agreed to him staying the night, just in case something went horribly awry. And from the way it was looking, at seven he would be listening to every little detail about the trio's friendship, how much it meant... The whole nine yards.

...

Everything about this was just so ironic. Lovino used to feel jealous that those three had such a close bond. But with that bond came the splintering ache of loss and heartbreak. He didn't know how anyone could get through that.

"Man, total wrecker, am I right?" Lovino's ears perked. "Snapped clear across the neck. I think someone said that his head was crushed in, too. No brain, but a lot of blood."

"You can't go on what people say. This is way too sensitive."

"Yeah, you're right. Was Francis even there today?"

"Yeah. But he hid in the back."

"Can't blame the guy. God, can you imagine living with that? The guilt? Even if no one is pointing fingers, that's _awful_."

"You don't need to tell me twice. Hey, did you see Katyusha there?"

"Oh, yeah, I saw. She lost a little weight. She looks good."

What was this? "What was Katyusha there for?" Lovino piped up, walking over to the gossip group. "Did she have something with Gilbert?"

"Huh?" One coworker looked up. "Oh, no. She was there for Ivan, mostly."

Lovino free his head back and shook it furiously. "Whoa, what? Excuse me? _Ivan_?" There was no attempt to correct him. "Ivan bullied Gilbert, right? All through middle school and freshman year. Why the hell would he be there?"

"Guilt." The same worker answered. "A lot of people felt it."

Lovino wasn't about to let that go. "Why did he need his sister there? Support? You've got to be joking." He set the containers of seasoning down on the nearest table. "That guy needed to be thrown out the door for some of the things he did. Remember eighth grade? When he made Gilbert do damn near everything? His homework, pay for his lunch... And then the next year when he weighed Gilbert down on the bench press and almost suffocated him, remember? It took two coaches to get that bar and the hundred on each side off."

All he got was a shrug. "Who knows? The guy isn't evil. He can just be a jerk to people he doesn't like."

Lovino shook his head in disbelief, his mouth slightly open. "That's the _shittiest_ thing I have ever heard."

"Man, you can't close the door on someone. Not when there's a death, and damn sure when there's food."

"Ooh! Yeah, those lemon bars were _good_. I'm telling my mom to get that recipe."

"Whoa, hang on." Lovino held a steady finger, then leaned in and put his hand to his ear. "Say that again."

"...I want the reci-"

"No, you idiot, the part before that!"

"All we said was there was food."

And that was all Lovino needed to hear. "Oh. I see. _Food_. What every good memorial service should have." He swayed a little bit, something strange bubbling inside of him. He couldn't put his finger on what he felt... It wasn't one thing, but it wasn't a mix of emotions. It was as if something vanished from inside him at just that moment when he swung his arm across the table and sent pounds of salt and pepper to the floor. "You fucking _weasels_!" Lovino yelled, his tone venomous. "I can't believe it! You went to the memorial service of a lost peer and all the fuck you thought about was _food_!"

It was a total blur in Lovino's head. Words he shouldn't say, accusations that shouldn't be made, things that shouldn't be thought, ideas that shouldn't come out of a whisper flew from his mouth and into the world. Curses and shouts and violent notions...

And then it just stopped. In a split second, Lovino held his default facial expression. He looked down at the mess he made by knocking the salt and pepper _containers_ over. He simply shrugged and turned to his coworkers. "Clean this up." Lovino demanded. "Clean up this entire restaurant, all the tables, all the spills, everything. Because I'm not." He reached around his waist and untied the loose knot of his apron. Before he had completely succeeded, Lovino stormed to the front of the cafe.

"Dude, what the _fuck_! Danny's going to hear about this!"

A sudden halt. Lovino turned, his golden eyes blazing with a twisted sense of confidence. "Good! Also drop this note off. I have to be moral support for the moral support who can't be moral support because the person he's supposed to be supporting is about to _go off the deep end_!" And with that, he was out the door.

.-.-.-.

Five forty five... forty six... forty six and seven seconds. It had been eleven minutes since Antonio cried. Maybe he was out of tears? Or maybe the splitting headache was giving off subconscious messages.

It didn't matter.

The only person he could think of right now was Francis. He hadn't said a single word to him today. Not a greeting or farewell or an opinion of the weather. Antonio kept a close eye on him during the slide show- half of him telling not to let him from his sight, half telling not to look at the images flashing across the screen... Worthless images with no flattery or meaning. Images that told you nothing of his character, of how he lived, of how many lives he sparked...

...That was it. The spark was gone.

Everything seemed darker. Heavier. Depressed. With less promise and less hope for a brighter tomorrow, the days would carry on. Would Antonio forget? Would he live to forget?

That's right.

It was an accident. No one planned for it to happen. Anyone could die at any moment from an accident. Anyone could lose their life to an accident. Anyone could leave the people who loved and cared more than the essence of those words because of 'an accident'.

Somehow his feet carried him to the living room and his mind began to spin the options. The television could fall over and crush his spine. It would be an accident. He could get shocked plugging in a frayed cord. It would be an accident. The measure line hanging from his mother's sewing mannequin could choke him until his lips turned blue and crusty. _Oops_. And that's all there would be.

The idea was damn interesting, to say the least. His fingers graced the bumps across the measure tool, each sending a message through his skin, up his nerves, and into his head. _Oops_.

But it was cut off by furious bangs on the door. "_Antonio_! Antonio, it's me!" _Bang, bang, bang_. "Antonio! Open the door!" _Bang, bang, bang_.

He never understood what made him comply with these demands, but as a heavy and warm weight crashed into him and squeezed as tightly as one could squeeze, he honestly didn't care. The familiar feel brought waves of comfort to his body, but his mind was still troubled. "You're not working?"

Lovino looked up, eyes bright and smile wide. "I think I am."

"What?"

"Hey, it's not always about food and satisfaction. I'm the moral support for the moral support. And that's a _hell_ of a lot more important job that making tips." He put his hand on Antonio's shoulder and pat him with all the affection and comfort a pat could give. "Now how about we get you over to _your_ job. He needs you more than ever."

Antonio had never seen Lovino so bright- and in such a dark time. Was this the spark he missed? The spark he lost and thought he would never have again? Perhaps it was or perhaps it could be. It was the spark of a bright future to embrace and enjoy. He wanted to be inspired by this, wanted to go outside skipping and crying tears of joy for doing what he needed to do. He wanted to pass that inspiration on to others, to everyone, to Francis...

But instead he shamefully walked ouside, slouched at the shoulders and eyes stark red.

Because there was no spark.

And there was no satisfaction.

* * *

**A/N: **Comments? Critiques? Questions? I'd be happy to hear it all. It's kind of my first time doing a one-shot like this... I'm not so sure how I feel about it.


End file.
